The Problem with a Start-Up (or Why I Will Never Get a Date in S'pore)

The problem with a start-up is that nothing really happens the way you expect it to. Chances are, everything you spent hours analyzing, proposing, and putting into place as a procedure, will ultimately need to be completely revamped and re-implemented in a very very short period of time. I am working on a start-up project here, and I knew these things coming in, but I had no idea to what extent the chaos would be. This has resulted in your good pal Syrah working more hours than she ever dreamed possible. We’re talking 12 hours a day, at least 6 days a week. I’m not telling you this to have you feel bad for me and say, “Oh Syrah, that’s stinks. You work way too hard,” (because I don’t, and I am not the only one doing this) but to give you a little background.

One of the effects of this is that I have had very little free time to spend on non-work related tasks, and what free time I have had has been spent eating & sleeping (and I’m not doing enough of either, incidentally). So, what this means is that certain chores have been neglected for a few weeks now. This includes: unpacking my new apt, doing laundry (good thing I brought enough clothing to last me at least two weeks), ironing, working out, and doing anything to my hair that requires more than washing and throwing it into a ponytail. Wearing makeup? Forget it. I know – it is not a pretty picture. The more time that goes between days off, the more disheveled I look. Which brings me to today. My day off is tomorrow. And since today is a Saturday, I spent even less time than usual getting ready this morning and simply threw on a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee (from when bdm pushed me during Gasparilla – hehe, just kidding, bdm. I know that I tripped on my own accord.), sneakers, a black t-shirt with an ever so small stain on it that I hoped nobody would notice, and pulled my hair up into what can almost pass for a fashionably messy wavy updo. (almost).

I took a quick break half-way through the day to go to the atm at the bank in the lobby of my building (which is actually two 40-storey towers connected in the lobby). As I was getting my cash, I heard two Australian-sounding people behind me chatting. As I left, I looked at one of them and thought I recognized him, but since I only know a few people outside of coworkers here, I figured I didn’t know him. Plus, he didn’t look at me like he knew me. Then it hit me…I did recognize him. He is this guy from NZ who I have never met, but who I have been emailing with on mspace.

Digression: I don’t make a habit of meeting people online. (And I am not on any dating sites.) And of the handful of people I have met online (it is hard hard hard to make friends without using the internet in a foreign country), I have only once ever been the person who initiated contact. (Yes, bdm, my bff, you hold the title of one and only) If someone sends me an email, I have rules about who I respond to. If the person doesn’t use my name in the email (ex – Hey Sweetie, Hi!), makes any references to how I look or what they’d want to do with me, or writes the email as though it were a text message (ex: U seem v. nice. Can we b frenz?), then there is no way that I will respond.

The atm Kiwi (guy from NZ) had written me a very nice email with suggestions of things to do in s’pore and suggested we have lunch sometime since we work in the same building. I gave him my number recently, but haven’t heard from him yet, so let’s hope that a.He didn’t recognize me when he saw me today (I was looking quite different then my cute pics on mspace) b.He didn’t notice the stain on my shirt and c.If he does call & we decide to meet, I find time to brush my hair so that he doesn’t realize that I was the homeless-looking girl at the atm.